


Colors of our days

by Mad_Mage



Series: Soulmates AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beware of wolf packs, F/M, Fluff, Growling Lannisters, Happy Ending, Hear me purr, Humor, Irritated big cats, Light Angst, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Reincarnation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Some souls have met so many times already that they are irrevocably entwined, bound together by bonds stronger than the will of men or even death.





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my soulmate AU! The story’s going to have four parts + bonus one and will be told from several POV. For now, enjoy Lord Tywin’s.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.

Tywin idly wondered if the child had a soulmark. He would see soon enough; Cersei had been pestering him for many moons to come to the capital and meet the crown prince. The boy was supposedly blond and green-eyed – more a lion than a stag – and seemed strong and growing stronger.

There had been many reasons why he had put it off for so long – the primary one was that he did not _wish_ to see his grandson. When Cersei had given birth to her first son, a little black-haired thing with Robert’s strong voice, Tywin had come to see the child as soon as other responsibilities allowed – and then had watched as the boy had been taken from them by an illness, and as his own daughter had lost her senses to her grief. Heartache seemed to be a constant companion to the Lannisters these days. The second reason he had avoided to come was as selfish as the first one. Like most things in this life, it felt wrong to meet the baby without his wife by his side. Just thinking about her absence in such a pivotal moment of Cersei’s life brought Tywin almost to his knees.

However, Tywin managed to gather the pain and pushed it at the back of his awareness. He had years of practice, after all. The crown prince had already lived longer than the first boy and his chances to survive to adulthood increased with every passing day. It was time to meet him – and after almost three years, Tywin had run out of excuses to avoid the journey to King’s Landing.

He regretted dismounting his horse as he made his way out of the throne room. Where’s the imbecilic King? He had met Jon Arryn instead of Robert. The fool was probably somewhere whoring the day away. Just the idea of Arryn’s face upon discovering horse shit in the hall lifted Tywin’s mood unexpectedly, and he felt almost ready to meet the child.

He would run around already and Tywin was curious to see if the boy could roar like a proper lion or just bleat and grunt loudly like his useless father.

“Father!” A voice called from behind him and his eldest son joined him. “Welcome! I didn’t realize you were coming, I would have arranged-”

“There was no need, Jaime.”

Father and son stared at each other for a moment and Tywin heaved a sigh when he noticed the slight shift in Jaime’s posture – as if he had moved forward and then changed his mind. He knew that the boy was itching to hug him. It was Jaime’s customary way of greeting the family.

In that awkward moment, both father and son wished for a different state of things between them. Then the younger man’s eyes flickered towards Tywin’s left hand and he cleared his throat. “You’ll be interested to know that the Prince hasn’t been blessed with a mark, Father.”

“That news is to be expected; I would have been more surprised if he had one,” Tywin replied dismissively. “He’s a half Baratheon, after all. That lineage hasn’t earned the old blessings yet. They’re no Starks – or Lannisters.”

No one compared to the Lions of the Rock, it was a fact.

“Yes, well.” His son shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked around. “Cersei is resting. I could take you to meet the heir without all the fuss she would make if you’d prefer. He’s almost three and she coddles him so much it’s bound to displease you.”

His son’s bluntness and spontaneity were refreshing. Tywin had always liked that about him just as much as he wished for Jaime to control his temper better.

“This is the best time to meet my grandson, then.”

Jaime nodded and gestured to him to continue down the corridor. His son’s gaze strayed one more time toward Tywin’s left hand and then the younger man clasped his own hands behind his back tightly. Jaime was the only one – apart from him – who remembered the vibrant colors of his mark, how its lines had glittered in the sunlight, how it had reflected the summer sky. Gold and blue and beautiful, as had been his wife.

His son had been fascinated with his parents’ marks, having also been born with one, and had liked to look at them when he had been a small boy.

Tywin had usually allowed it for a moment with an indulgent smile. There had always been things to attend to and the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Hand of the King had needed both his hands for those tasks.

_The colors are so pretty – just like mine, look_, that’s what Jaime had usually said and then he had proceeded to present proudly his own bronze and blue mark.

However, Tywin’s wife had been able to sit patiently for long minutes and let Jaime tickle her palm. He had liked to trace the lines carefully with his chubby fingers, eyes full of awe and wonder. Jaime had been the most sensitive child, soft and sweet-natured, while his sister had been all sharp little claws and high-pitched growls.

Jaime was also the only one who had seen the mark go dark. He had gripped his father’s hand that fateful day as both of them had watched the colors die – a night falling, the carefree days of light and laughter lost forever. The blue had darkened and darkened and _darkened_ until those parts of the mark had become black. The golden lines had slowly lost their shine, first bleeding red and orange and slowly becoming dull and empty grey with all the finality of a grave.

Broken.

Tywin didn’t remember the days – _weeks_ – after his wife’s demise and the birth of his second son, only that it had changed their family in more ways than the obvious ones. Left with raising three children with only half of himself had been a burden too heavy to carry even for a man like him – or so he had often thought – but he had picked up the shreds of their lives, put them back together with pieces missing, and carried on.

He was first to admit that his ability to love had died with his wife. His family had needed him, the realm had needed him. It had been enough to stop him from following Joanna into the grave but life without her had become colorless, tedious, painful one could say; every day a chore to be endured in the name of the family and the legacy he would leave behind.

There wasn’t much to be done about the state of their family. Tyrion hated him. Cersei feared him. Jaime, his sweet little boy, was the only one who had tried to understand that functioning with only half of heart and soul was nearly impossible. It didn’t change the fact that even Jaime avoided him given half the chance.

His enemies didn’t dare to plot against him, on the other hand. Only someone wishing for death would go against a man who had lost his soulmate for such a man didn’t have anything else to lose.

They made their way into the Prince’s chambers when he caught Jaime sneaking a glance at his hand yet again. He stopped and breathed in deeply. “Is there a reason for this behavior, Jaime?”

“I was just wondering,” he started, swallowed and then looked him straight in the eye. “Have you ever wished to be born without the mark?”

Tywin was surprised by the question. Jaime’s path in life was straightforward and uncomplicated. He had joined the Kingsguard – to the displeasure of his father – and had been sworn to celibacy. There were only two ways for Jaime to be released from the Guard – he would either die or meet his other half… And it was obvious that neither of those things had happened.

“Why are you asking such a question?”

Jaime shook his head and turned away for a second. Then he shrugged like a boy, not a man – not a knight – and Tywin resisted the urge to reprimand him. At least they were in private.

“Well? Something has brought that up. Be a man and finish what you started.”

Jaime winced and met his father’s gaze again. Even though his son tried to be understanding, Tywin managed to test his devotion regularly.

“These marks. How do the gods choose the bearers? How do they know that the persons bound by them are really good for each other? What if one of them doesn’t want the bond? What if they want different… things?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed as he watched his son say all this in a rush. Was this about Jaime’s dedication to the Kingsguard? Was he afraid that the bond would force him to leave his life’s purpose? Lure him from the King’s services against his will? Force him to love someone he didn’t wish to love?

“Have you broken yet another of your vows, my son? Is there someone who has you questioning the validity and purpose of the mark on your hand?” he asked calmly. It wouldn’t be the first time a King’s guard had strayed, though having Jaime dishonor the Lannister name further and sully his badly bruised honor some more…

“W-what? No, of course not!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Tywin snapped his jaw shut and forced himself to breathe through his nose. In and out, in and out. He could recognize the way Jaime’s eyes had darted from left to right and back, the flash of guilt in them. His son was a terrible liar. Jaime had dishonored himself again; his son had found a lover. Was Jaime daft?

“You threw away everything I have offered you, everything I have fought for so hard, so you could serve as nothing but a glorified bodyguard to not one but two incompetent kings… And yet you are not able to do even that! Tell me, do you _want_ them to be right? The people who call you Oathbreaker? Without honor? Do you perversely enjoy it? Dragging our name through the dirt?”

The proud Kingsguard lowered his head, but not fast enough to hide the fact that his eyes had brightened with tears. “No.”

“No? Then why do you insist on doing that?”

A shudder ran through Jaime’s body and Tywin watched as he struggled to control himself. “Have I not tried to teach you to honor your word? To choose carefully what you swear to uphold in the first place? To think before you do something rash? You can be released from your vows only if you meet your soulmate, not for anyone else.”

“I know that,” whispered Jaime finally. “But what if the gods are wrong? I… I love someone.”

For several long moments, he watched his shamefaced son and struggled to remember to be a father to the boy. Jaime could be one and twenty yet he was still very much Tywin’s little boy who had been fascinated with the colors of their marks, and who loved those around him so fully, so purely. His heart had been his weakness since he had been a small child and Tywin had been quite lost trying to deal with that on his own.

Here they were again; Tywin with the coldness of a broken bond and Jaime, full of doubts. Yet he still had come to him, had come to ask his father such a pivotal question even though he had known his father’s probable reaction.

“The mark… I wish I didn’t have it. It brings nothing but pain, destroys families,” said Jaime softly and then bowed his head even lower. “I-I’m sorry, Father, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t have but obviously you live in a misconception and I can’t have that. Listen to me, my son.” Tywin raised his hand and gripped the back of Jaime’s neck, forced him to look back up. “I won’t lie to you. It brings pain, doubts, despair. You may never meet her or you may meet her too late or she may leave you too early. But you will love her more than anything and anyone else.”

“I already love someone that way!” Jaime swallowed hard, his eyes wide, and for a moment Tywin saw in the troubled young man the sweet little boy Jaime had been. It was a good thing that the old maester who had been teaching his children was dead – Tywin would have him killed for incompetence otherwise. A soulmark, despite everything, was a _gift_.

“No,” he told him slowly. “No, Jaime, you don’t. You think you love her yet you doubt the rightness of it even as we speak, don’t you? Loving your soulmate is as easy as breathing. It is the only right thing in this world. Some souls have met so many times already that they are irrevocably entwined, bound together by bonds stronger than the will of men or even destiny. You won’t doubt it, you will just know that this person is the one you have been waiting for.”

Jaime blinked several times and clasped his father’s forearm, nodding slowly. Then he asked in a small voice, sounding very much like the five-year-old he had been the last time he had asked the same question.

“Can I see it? Just for a moment, Father, so I can remember…”

Tywin stiffened and dropped his arm from Jaime’s shoulder, hid it from sight instinctively, and his son fell silent. No one had seen Tywin’s soulmark since the day his wife had breathed her last. He took care to have it covered all day and night; Tywin couldn’t bear to see the physical manifestation of what he had lost.

“I’m sorry I asked, Father, please forgive me. I know it pains you.” Jaime’s face flushed in embarrassment – only children usually asked to see their parents’ marks and only a close family was ever allowed to know the exact shape of it.

He closed his eyes briefly. “You need a reminder, and so do I. The marks and what they represent is a _blessing_, do you hear me? I won’t have you dishonoring the will of gods.”

It would do them both some good to remember how their family had been happy once. Tywin wanted Jaime to have the same, to feel the perfection of an active soulbond, the happiness it brought. He wanted to reassure his son that the mark was a good thing even if it could lead to such heartbreak. It was worth it, always.

Jaime watched, holding his breath, as Tywin pulled off the riding gloves. Tywin’s right hand was bare but on his left, he wore another thin fingerless glove covering the mark from all eyes.

It would be strange to see it again after what felt like an eternity. Whenever he had the glove off, he didn’t look at his palm. He didn’t want to see the dead mark and feel fully the pain and grief he had to push from the front of his mind every morning. Tywin hesitated for a moment before proceeding to peel off the fabric.

He clenched the fist and took a deep breath, exchanging a look with his son. How many years had been since he had shared with his boy the mark? Sixteen, perhaps?

When he opened his palm, he breathed out in shock, barely registering his son’s surprised exclamation.

“Gods!”

The mark wasn’t dark and bleak anymore. The lines were golden again – not as bright and glittering as before Joanna’s death but the color was back, hesitatingly returning after years of absence. The blue was also present; dark midnight blue – a far cry from the desperation of the previous blackness. What was more, the mark seemed to catch the light and reflect it back, miraculously _alive_.

Tywin stared at his palm, disbelieving, and was only marginally aware that Jaime gripped his upper arms and stopped him from sinking to the ground. “Father!”

“It is back,” he breathed softly and touched the fingers of his right hand to the center of it. As soon as the tips came into contact with the skin, the mark rippled. The color changed to the familiar summer sky blue where he touched it. They both watched as it spread until the whole mark was bright with it. Even the golden lines suddenly seemed clearer.

Jaime dared to grasp his fingers and gripped them. “Father, Father, does it mean…?”

He didn’t answer. Tywin walked unsteadily to the nearest chair and sat down, eyes never leaving the soulmark on his palm. What did it mean? He had no idea, never had heard of anything like it – yet deep down he couldn’t suppress feelings of hope. Did it mean that his other half had found a way back to him? Was it possible? It had to be, surely.

The mark had come back to life quite recently and that meant that his soulmate was much younger than him, probably just barely born. He shook his head and his lips turned upward slowly. It had been years since his son had seen him smile. It wasn’t a nice smile, though, more bitter than sweet, a brittle painful thing. Yet it was at least something.

“It does.” There was no other explanation.

Jaime beamed and then threw his head back and laughed. In a hurried motion, he pulled off his own glove and stared at his mark for several moments. Then he looked back at Tywin, eyes bright. “You were right, Father; it is a blessing, isn’t it? The gods smile upon us Lannisters more than any noble house.”

Tywin allowed his smile to soften, to lose some of its bitterness. Hope, he supposed, was to blame. He had given his son hope and unexpectedly had also found it. The person who had been born somewhere with a golden and green mark to match Tywin’s was there for _him_. She was his soulmate bearing on her palm the exact shade of his eyes. He had been blessed to meet his other half not once but _twice_ in his lifetime. Now the only thing that needed to be done was to wait and Tywin was a man capable of great patience.

“I wonder who she is and where she lives, Father,” babbled Jaime excitedly and grinned at his palm. “Where do you suppose one can meet their soulmate?”

“I’d say by doing the things one enjoys, Jaime,” he answered dryly. “It is probable that you would enjoy the same activities, otherwise you wouldn’t be matched with a bronze mark.”

The knight nodded thoughtfully and closed his fist. Then his grin became teasing and Tywin couldn’t remember ever seeing that expression directed at him; at Cersei, certainly, sometimes at Jaime’s uncle and cousins but never at him.

“Yours would be your complete opposite, then, am I right? Golden ones are meant to balance each other if I remember my lessons correctly…”

“Oh, you do admit remembering at least something from your lessons, then! The gods be praised.” Tywin gave him an unimpressed look which only served to make Jaime grin more widely. He realized that his son was happy for the first time in ages – partly on Tywin’s behalf, partly because his burden had been lifted from his shoulders. How long had Jaime been struggling with the concept of soulmates alone, fearing his fate like this? Fearing Tywin’s example?

“I will still need to consult with septons and masters. If anything, they will be interested to know about the possibility.”

Jaime sobered immediately. “Do you think that-”

“No.” The vehemence of his own words surprised even him. He refused to contemplate that possibility. _No_. Losing the hope that was so brilliantly burning inside of him was unthinkable, he would not be able to survive it, not again. The idea of losing the colors in his mark again… Tywin would not allow that.

His son nodded and gestured to the door on the other side of the room. “Do you want to meet the Prince? Or would you prefer to wait for Cersei?”

Tywin rose from his seat and strode to the door. He was more than ready to see his grandson. The child was almost three. It was high time to take a look at the newest generation.

Just before he opened the door, he turned to his son and said with an eyebrow raised, “Oh, and Jaime? I trust you know what you need to do in regards to the woman warming your bed.”

The knight flushed and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Father. I won’t dishonor my oaths. I think… she would probably bash my head if she knew. My soulmate, I mean.”

“Do you?”

“It feels like it, yes. I expect the woman I’ll love to be honorable.”

“See to it that you are and she surely will be,” Tywin advised and swept through the door to meet Joffrey Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne, for the first time in the boy’s short life.

He also tried not to think about the fact that his soulmate was around the same age as his grandson. It was the beginning of a very long wait, indeed, but he was willing to wait as long as was necessary. In the meantime, he thought as he set his eyes on the blond boy, he had work to do.

It was time for him to take a more active role in the matters of his children’s lives. He doubted his soulmate would like the state of their family affairs. Tywin knew he didn’t.


	2. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa muses about the identity of her soulmate. Jaime and Tyrion team up to make a discovery and King Robert’s visit to Winterfell doesn’t go according to his plan at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter seems to be longer than I thought. Ah, hell, who cares? Enjoy :)

It’s only logical to think so, Sansa reasoned as she observed the King’s retinue make their way toward Winterfell. The center of her soulmark was green – not the same dark green of spruces that grew in the forests in the North or the vivid green of the grass. The shade was lighter, paler, like the leaves of the trees growing in the South. Her mother had said so many times.

Sansa was happily convinced that her soulmate was Prince Joffrey. He was supposedly blond and green-eyed and very handsome and there simply wasn’t that many noble families to be known for their green eyes who were also old enough to merit a soulmarked child from the gods. Only the Lannisters came to mind and Joffrey’s mother the Queen was one. It was only logical, wasn’t it?

“I’ve heard he looks like a girl!” whispered Arya gleefully. “If that’s so, you’ll be perfect for each other!”

Sansa scoffed and wanted to say that Arya was stupid. Everyone knew that people with golden marks were usually not similar in their personalities. That was reserved for those born with bronze ones. If Sansa was a gentle and soft lady, her soulmate was surely a strong and fierce warrior so they could complement each other. It was all so romantic and she was pleased to know that the gods were considerate of such things.

She ignored Arya waited patiently as a young lady should. Then finally – _finally_ – the King and his family appeared in front of the Starks and Sansa could hardly suppress a shiver when she saw the golden-haired prince.

She stopped breathing for a moment until she looked directly into his eyes. He truly was very pretty and had beautiful green eyes. However, the color didn’t match her mark and his left palm was barren. There was no soulmark to indicate that Prince Joffrey was hers and for the tiniest of moments, Sansa felt robbed of her dream; a wedding in the capital and being a queen.

“He’s such a girl!” murmured Arya with a snicker. She tended to agree, upon closer inspection. The prince was pale and looked delicate, face carefully structured, soft hair catching the light – he clearly took after his mother. Just one look was enough to cure her of her fantasy. Prince Joffrey was very pretty and he was surely a real knight in the making but he had lost Sansa’s interest as soon as he had proved to be unmarked.

He wasn’t her soulmate and therefore Sansa didn’t see any point in wasting her affections on him. Her heart, she had been quite determined for some time, belonged to the man who bore a matching mark to hers, who had the color of Sansa’s eyes at the center of his palm.

“Oh,” muttered Arya when they were introduced to the other royal children and it was Sansa’s turn to be amused. She hid her smile and observed as her sister gaped at the second-born son of King Robert.

He had ruffled black hair, was obviously very tall for someone so young – he was the same age as Arya – and his blue eyes were full of mischief. He grinned at them as he bowed over their hands and then winked. He seemed to be the complete opposite of his older brother but just as handsome.

It looked like her sister had the wind knocked out of her. Oh, Sansa would enjoy teasing her about her reaction to Prince Tommen for _weeks_.

Then the King wanted to visit the crypts and the Stark children were deprived of being introduced to the rest of the King’s and Queen’s family properly. Her brothers had run off, strategically retreating as Robb would call it, and Arya bolted as fast as she could from the presence of Prince Tommen. The Queen was obviously upset and stalked away in an unladylike manner with Sansa’s mother hurrying after her, the royal children dutifully following. That left Sansa as the only Stark in the courtyard to preserve some semblance of protocol.

Sansa was not perturbed and smiled at the two remaining members of the extended royal family.

The two men did not need an introduction. The first one was obviously the Imp and the other the Kingslayer. What horrible nicknames. While her father didn’t have much to say about either Lannister brother, he always spoke about them as was proper to speak about sons of an old and powerful house. It meant he didn’t particularly like them, though.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” she said happily. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

“It was rather cold and too long for my liking but I have to say I’m looking forward to drinking some of your wine,” said the little man and gave her a bow. “Tyrion Lannister, at your service.”

“Don’t mind my brother. He dislikes the cold, my Lady. The journey North was well worth it if only to meet such a beauty upon our arrival.” The Kingslayer took off his gloves first before he reached for Sansa’s hand and kissed it. “Jaime Lannister.”

She felt her breath hitch and swallowed an enormous lump in her throat as soon as their eyes met. It was that color! Jaime Lannister’s eyes were the same green color as her mark. She waited for a moment to see if recognition would come to life in his gaze but it didn’t.

“I’m happy to meet you, I’m Sansa Stark,” she managed to say, her heart beating wildly. Almost against her will, her gaze strayed to Jaime’s left hand, trying to catch a glimpse of color. If was bordering on rude, they had just met and weren’t close enough for such behavior but she couldn’t help herself.

“Curious things, these marks, aren’t they?” He smirked and made sure to turn his palm for her for a moment. He had one and to Sansa’s eternal regret, Jaime’s was a bronze one and the color in the center of the mark was a very pale shade of blue.

“I would be a lucky man to bear the color of your eyes on my palm, my Lady. Alas, it is my sad duty to disappoint you.” He put the gloves back on, smiling.

“Do you have a soulmark, my lady?” asked Tyrion curiously and Sansa noticed the brothers exchange a look before glancing at her gloved hands. They seemed very keen on her answer.

“Why, that is a very impertinent thing to ask upon a first meeting, Lord Tyrion.”

“Is it? You ogled my brother’s. It’s only fair, I think,” he said and smiled. Some would think his face ugly to look at and even uglier when he smiled but Sansa found herself returning the smile with sincerity.

“Your brother offered – didn’t you, Ser Jaime? – and that makes all the difference.” Sharing the secret of a soulmark was considered private but she was quite confident that she had not insulted Ser Jaime.

“Indeed. But let us leave the cold air, Lady Sansa. You could give us a tour of Winterfell and perhaps in time – when we become better acquainted with each other – the mystery of your possible soulmark could be solved!”

They chuckled. There was something about both brothers that put her at ease and Sansa accepted Jaime’s offered arm. Just like her momentary disappointment with Joffrey’s lack of mark, Sansa wasn’t too deeply wounded by the fact that Ser Jaime carried a bronze one. He wasn’t the one for her but seemed to be a pleasant companion.

***

Ned was rubbing his left palm nervously as he waited for Robert to speak his mind. The letter had hinted why the King would come and he _really _wasn’t looking forward to refusing the monarch – twice.

“We both have children and they are at the right ages now. What do you say? Shall we join our houses through them if we couldn’t become brothers?” the King finally said, staring at Lyanna’s statue. He still seemed smitten, even after all those years.

“I’m honored, my King, but Arya is too young to be married. Perhaps in two years, we can think about a betrothal…”

“I’m not talking about your little she-wolf, Ned, and you know it. Joffrey could hardly keep his eyes off your eldest. What’s her name? Sansa!” boomed Robert and turned to look at him. Seeing the expression on Ned’s face, he frowned. “Or is there a problem?”

His gaze flickered down, to Ned’s hands, and his expression turned stormy. “Oh, no! Not again!”

The tragedy of Robert’s life was named Rhaegar. The Targaryen prince had been the one to bear Lyanna Stark’s eye color on his palm and many – Robert the loudest – had doubted the authenticity of his mark: never before had a Targaryen been blessed with a soulmark, the gods not favoring the house of conquerors. Despite that, Rhaegar and Lyanna had been married in a quiet ceremony and soon after ambushed and killed in one of the riots in King’s Landing. The Mad King had been hated throughout the Seven Kingdoms for years and both his son and new good-daughter had been innocent, caught in the waves of hatred directed at the King. When Robert had heard, he gathered his armies, seething and half-mad with grief himself, and finally put an end to the tyranny – and getting his revenge against the Targaryens in the process.

“What can I say, my King? We are an ancient bloodline.” The souls old enough to develop soulbonds tended to be born usually to the same families. That was the reason why the older houses had more blessed children than the newer ones. The Citadel kept careful records and if one was determined enough, they could trace their own previous lives.

“Who?” he asked brusquely.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does! The marks bring nothing but misery and pain. Just take a look at your sister. She’s dead! Or if you want to see another _ancient bloodline_ example, take a good long look at my good-father! He’s dead inside.” He turned abruptly and started to walk away.

Ned grimaced and then clenched his left fist, Cat was feeling his discomfort. When he relaxed his hand, he smiled at his own soulmark – silver lines and blue center. Not all soulmarks brought only misery and pain but then again, he supposed he had been lucky. Anyway, half of his battle was won. Now he only needed to figure out how to refuse the position of the Hand – he would be a fool to accept if Lysa’s accusations were true. Starks belonged in the North and that was where he intended to remain, building his strength if something _did_ happen in the King’s Landing so he could, as usual, save Robert’s ass for him.

***

“So, what do you think?” asked Jaime quietly, eyes glued to the girl.

Lady Sansa’s old soul shone through brightly. It was rumored that those who had already lived many lives had all met at one point or another and the soul knew an old friend even if the logical mind could not explain it. Jaime, upon meeting Sansa Stark, was ready to agree. He felt comfortable in her presence and he hadn’t even hesitated to let her catch a glimpse of his own soulmark. It had felt _natural_.

“She has a mark, to our good-brother’s ire. He asked Lord Stark for her hand for Joffrey and was gently refused. Let’s just say that Robert didn’t take it well: another Stark woman destined to snub another Baratheon man.” Tyrion chuckled. “They seem to have bad luck up here.”

Jaime grimaced at the tone of Tyrion’s voice when he mentioned Joffrey. There wasn’t something quite right in the boy’s brain and the knight feared that it had been his fault, the punishment for his sins. Between the joint efforts of the three Lannisters – Jaime, Tyrion, and their father – they managed to curb Joffrey’s violent tendencies but he still worried that his son’s will was weaker than these urges.

“She’s beautiful – doesn’t look like a Stark much, that’s good. They have these long faces, it’s not really appealing to the eye…”

They both turned to observe the lady in question as she embroidered at one of the long tables. Jaime was certain that they had accidentally stumbled upon their father’s soulmate.

“Gods, she’s so young. What if it is her? What if it isn’t? I don’t know what makes me more uncomfortable.” Tyrion shook his head. The relationship between his brother and father had improved over the years, to Jaime’s joy, yet the damage had been done already and Tyrion was slow to forgive and to forget.

“Don’t say that.”

“She’s young enough to be my daughter and there is a possibility that she had been my mother in her previous life. How can you _not_ squirm at that thought?”

“Simple, really. Don’t think about her in terms of our mother or her age. I can already see Lady Sansa as one of my closest friends.”

“She has that peaceful, calming presence, doesn’t she? It’s disgustingly sweet,” agreed Tyrion with a small chuckle. “Gods, to see our father happy for once! What a sight that would be!”

Jaime frowned at him and Tyrion had the grace to look ashamed. “You know I don’t mean it like that. Not anymore.”

Tyrion had never seen their father content and it was hard for him to picture it. Jaime, on the other hand, still could remember the simple uncomplicated _joy_ that had been ever-present in their home when Mother had been still alive. Tyrion couldn’t imagine how she had tempered their father’s thunderous moods with only a look or a gentle touch on his arm.

“What will we do if she is the one for Father, Jaime?” he asked next, a troubled expression flitting across his deformed face. “She’s really so very young. Wouldn’t it be cruel to rob her of her dreams of a young and handsome man? How old is she, again?”

Jaime pulled at his hair thoughtfully and then shrugged. Good thing that their father wasn’t there to see him act like a child.

“She’s fifteen or so, only slightly younger than Joffrey.”

They both grimaced at the same time. They had expected her to be young but the reality of seeing how much young she was… When Jaime had been fifteen, he had felt quite grown up – and a year later he had killed the Mad King. Their father had been married already at seventeen and widowed at twenty-three. Watching Lady Sansa, however, made Jaime realize that he had been still so young at fifteen and sixteen and even at twenty.

“If she has the mark to match,” Jaime swallowed, “we’ll let Father know.”

“Can you recognize it?”

“Of course.” Jaime nodded and it pained him to know that Tyrion had never been allowed to see their parents’ marks while he had spent so many occasions _touching_ them.

“Alright. I guess that there’s only one thing for us to do now, isn’t there?” Tyrion stood up, took a sip of wine and started to wobble towards Lady Sansa, pretending to be drunk.

Jaime watched in amusement and horror as his brother started a conversation with her and then spilled the contents of his cup over Sansa’s hands, staining her pretty white gloves with red.

He sat up straighter and held his breath.

The girl peeled the gloves off – first the right one and then the left one, revealing a flash of gold and green. That was as good as a confirmation, not that he had doubted it after the way Lady Sansa had searched his eyes, looking for something in his gaze that Jaime couldn’t give her.

Jaime jumped up and hurried to them. He longed to see the mark again after so many years.

“Oh, my lady! Please, excuse my brother! He had been drinking on empty stomach. Here, let me help you.” He reached for her hands and before Sansa could snatch them away, Jaime turned her palms in his and looked at them.

“If you don’t mind, Ser Jaime,” she said politely but there was an edge to her voice. She was aware that a lot of people present in the hall were staring at them and didn’t wish to cause a scandal. It was disconcerting to realize that his father had usually the same look about his face when he was annoyed. Soulmates, indeed.

He released his grip, knowing how discourteous his behavior was, and bowed. “I am so sorry, my apologies again.”

“That’s quite alright. Excuse me, my lords.”

He released a long breath and glanced down at Tyrion. Then they waited for a moment until they were certain that Lady Sansa wouldn’t make a reappearance. The Northmen were still staring at them – or more like glaring, for upsetting their little lady.

“After this little display, I feel even smaller than usual,” Tyrion quipped. “So?”

“It’s her.” Jaime had recognized the mark easily. He had seen it on their mother’s palm countless times as a boy and its blue variation on their father’s not so long ago.

“Oh, damn. We’re going to get a _stepmother_.”

They retreated to their corner of the hall and sat back down, both brothers shocked. Jaime had prayed for this moment since he had seen his father’s mark come to life again. He just didn’t bother to think much about what would follow after finding her. Coming to think of it, he hadn’t spared a single thought to what would happen if he ever found _his_ soulmate. It was suddenly a very scary concept.

“Imagine Father’s face when he realizes he needs to ask Lord Stark’s permission to marry his daughter,” said Tyrion suddenly.

Jaime blinked and turned to look blankly at his brother. “I don’t suppose either of them would let us watch that exchange.”

***

Sansa Stark was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them. Jaime Lannister’s eye color and his offensive attempt to see her mark had hardly been a coincidence. She had spent the better part of the night thinking it over and over again and had finally reached a conclusion in the early hours of the morning. Then it had become pointless to even _try_ and go back to sleep.

“Ser Jaime,” she called after the dashing knight as soon as she spotted him in the courtyard. He was dressed in a beaten looking armor with a dented helmet under his arm and Sansa wondered if he had been practicing earlier in the morning.

“My lady.” He bowed with a charming smile “How can I help you?”

“Walk with me for a moment, Ser Jaime; I’m headed to the Godswood and could use some company.” Her answer was delivered in a tranquil tone as if nothing was amiss. Sansa was proud of herself.

“It would be my honor, Lady Sansa.” He swallowed, gesturing to his squire to come over, and handed him the helmet. He was still smiling but his eyes darted from left to right and back. She even caught a flash of something like guilt in them. Gods, the man was a terrible liar, wasn’t he?

She took his arm and hoped she didn’t look half as nervous a she felt. The dark circles under her eyes had been carefully hidden with Jeyne’s help, but there was nothing to be done about her wildly beating heart. Sansa wasn’t sure if she wished to be proven right or wrong. She didn’t know what she wished at all.

It felt… It felt as if she had grown up during the night. As if she had aged years and years in the course of mere hours. She wanted to laugh at the childishness of the girl she had been only yesterday.

They walked in silence for some time, the serenity of nature around them calming Sansa’s anxiety. When they reached the weirwood tree and its carved face, she turned to look Ser Jaime in the eye.

“You are closely related to him.”

It was amusing to watch how Ser Jaime’s face paled and then flushed, how his eyes widened, and how panicked his expression became. He settled on being stunned and stared at her for a moment before clearing his throat.

“What makes you say so, my lady?”

“Am I right?” Sansa said softly and squeezed his hand – the left one.

Jaime was silent for so long that Sansa started to doubt her logic. Then he said evenly, “Yes.”

She closed her eyes and her shoulders sagged – if it was with relief or not, she couldn’t say. At least the waiting was over and she knew where her place in life was going to be. It was only logical, after all, for her soulmate to be a Lannister, she had known that since she had been able to put two and two together. Some part of her had _known_ it as surely as she knew that there were stars in the sky.

There weren’t many unattached Lannisters, though, and she could imagine only one of them allowing Ser Jaime to know what his mark looked like in such a detail that the knight had been able to recognize it.

It was a very private thing, a soulmark. People blessed with it only ever allowed a close family to see its precise form and shape. While friends might glimpse the colors, the intricacies of the entwined lines were _intimate_.

She couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else but her soulmate and their children.

“Have you let Lord Lannister know?” Curling her left hand in a fist, she turned away from the handsome knight and fixed her eyes on the face of the weirwood tree. The sky was blue and flames were hot, the sun rose in the East and settled in the West – with the same certainty, her mind whispered Lord Lannister’s name like an echo of a long-forgotten dream. _Tywin_.

“Yesterday evening, after I made sure,” said Ser Jaime and there was a trace of sheepishness in his voice. “I am truly sorry for my behavior but I needed to know for certain before feeding my father a false hope.”

“I think I’d like to sit down, Ser.”

“Of course, my lady.” The knight spread his cloak between the roots of the weirwood tree and helped her sit down. After a moment of hesitation, he gingerly kneeled and then sat next to her. There was something endearing about his awkwardness.

Never had she heard of a case similar to theirs – and she had heard stories about soulmates from all around the world. Like most people born with a mark, Sansa had been fascinated with the concept and found it romantic. But this? This was something so out of the realm of what she had ever thought possible.

Usually, soulmates started with a clean slate without anything clearly connecting them to their previous existence. but Sansa had a living proof of her old life sitting right next to her. There were people still alive who had known her as someone else and who had been left behind when that woman had died only to be born again.

“Do I look very different?” she asked in a soft tone. Silly question.

“Your eyes and your presence are the same. Your appearance is not.” Jaime hesitated. “Perhaps it’s a good thing.”

They remained sitting in silence for a long time lost in their thoughts. She wanted to ask so many questions about her previous life and about his father but she refrained. Jaime was right – she wasn’t Lady Joanna Lannister, she was Sansa Stark. She couldn’t be the same and wouldn’t.

“Ser Jaime? I’d like us to be friends if possible.” She turned to look at the knight and was rewarded with a boyish smile.

“Gladly, my lady.” Ser Jaime leaned closer and whispered, “Now that I have found my father’s soulmate for him, perhaps you can help me find mine?”

“I will consider it one of my life’s purposes, Ser.”

They laughed and it wasn’t long before Lord Tyrion wandered into the Godswood and joined their conversation. It wasn’t terribly bad to be surrounded by men who had been her sons in her last life, Sansa mused. She understood her soul’s hurry to be born again and she understood her soulmate’s hesitancy to leave their previous life and follow her into the next. Both boys and the Queen had been very young when Lord Lannister had lost his wife. His decision to stay for them was the first thing she could admire him for. She hoped to add others soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about this ship is dangerously addicting… That being said, I’m proud to announce that another Ty/Sansa fic will be posted soon. It’s going to be canon divergence AU featuring very irritated, grumbly lions and wolf ladies who are not impressed by such behavior. The most probable title is ‘Lord of Casterly Rock,’ but it might change. Thanks for reading and please, let me know what you think :)  
Next time: Cersei and finally Tywin/Sansa interaction


	3. Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei shares her opinion with the rest of her family. Ned and Catelyn try to deal with the newest developments in their daughter’s life. Sansa meets her other half – finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So, the next chapter is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it :) As it happens, most of this story is already finished, I’m just struggling with certain POVs' parts. Catelyn’s was a pain and I keep rewriting Arya’s again and again, so the next post will be ready probably sometime next week. Sorry for that :)

Something was going on, the Queen was certain of it. The way both her brothers had become glued to the Little Dove’s side was unusual. For a moment, Cersei had thought that Lady Sansa was Jaime’s soulmate but she had dismissed the idea soon after. Her brother didn’t act like a man in love.

Cersei was also certain that he would tell her the moment he would meet his soulmate. While they weren’t as _close_ as before, they had overcome the strains on their relationship. Jaime had been the one to urge her to be _nicer_ to Robert and it had resulted in two of her three children with a fourth one on the way.

It had been her who had made an effort for them to get along and Cersei was somewhat glad that she had tried. She wouldn’t call the thing she had with Robert a married bliss but the King was quite skilled in the bedroom even though most of his attractiveness had disappeared over the years. She was the Queen – which was more than other long-suffering wives could say – and her husband’s bad conscience made sure he treated her nicely and with as much as respect as he was able. Still, there were days when she thought she would gladly pour poison into her husband’s gaping mouth as he snored loudly next to her in their bed…

She watched her siblings and Lady Sansa confer yet again in what had become their corner of the great hall. Cersei had had enough. She wanted to know what was going on and she wanted to know now.

“Hello, Lady Sansa, brothers.”

Three faces turned to look at her and Cersei suppressed a smirk at their startled expressions. Tyrion, being the spiteful little monster he was, immediately frowned at her but Jaime offered a cautious smile. The Little Dove mirrored Cersei’s twin and smiled.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” She gracefully rose to curtsey as Jaime and Tyrion bowed.

Girls so young should not be allowed to be so damned perfect, mused the Queen. Her eyes flickered around the hall and she noticed her husband and Lord Stark watching them. Sending a gracious smile to the two oafs, Cersei took a seat.

“Now, my darlings,” she purred, “If you don’t want to explain to the King and Lord Stark what you three are plotting, I suggest you tell me. I might be inclined to help you out and save you from their nosiness.”

“I don’t think I understand you, Your Grace,” said Lady Sansa so sweetly and so innocently that Cersei almost believed her. However, her two companions exchanged questioning looks.

“Perhaps we could,” started Jaime slowly. Then he turned to look at Sansa and added, “My sister can offer a fresh point of view and it’s high time to share the news anyway. We can’t keep it hidden forever, my lady.”

Cersei’s eyebrow rose. Had she been wrong? Were they actually soulmates? She wasn’t sure if it sat right with her – Jaime had been hers for their whole life and even though she had known she would have to share her twin with his soulmate eventually… No, it didn’t sit well with her at all. Her twin brother had been the only one who had ever been there for her when all other things had failed.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I have to agree with Jaime on that one. Our sister is bound to know sooner or later.”

“Your love for me leaves me breathless, little brother.” She glared at Tyrion and he returned it with vigor.

“Always a pleasure.”

“Ehm, let’s focus on the matter at hand, then. Cersei, there is something important we need to tell. Also, we need your opinion on a certain matter.” Jaime first cleared his throat and when the Queen focused her attention back on him, he nervously shifted in his seat. Honestly, was she the only one of her siblings to _remember_ that they were Lannisters? Lannisters didn’t act like panicky children.

“I’m listening.”

“Promise _not_ to make a scene first,” insisted Tyrion and leaned over the table closer to her. “And _not_ to be upset that we didn’t tell you sooner. It’s a delicate situation.”

“You would do well to remember your place,” she hissed back. The nerve of him! Tyrion enjoyed ignoring her rank but she would gladly remind him who held the power.

Jaime glanced around and grimaced but Cersei didn’t pay much attention to the questioning looks they were getting from all those brutish Northerners as long as they didn’t attract the King’s eyes. She would prefer to keep her husband out of whatever mess her siblings and Lady Sansa had landed themselves in. Robert’s temper was not doing anyone any favors.

“Your father is my soulmate,” said Lady Sansa abruptly with a trace of annoyance in her sweet little voice. It was the first time Cersei could remember the Little Dove shoving something resembling a personality. Then the words registered.

“Excuse me?”

“Lord Lannister is my soulmate, Your Grace,” she repeated patiently and held Cersei’s gaze. “Believe me, it was shocking for me also. Your brother Jaime has sent a missive to him almost three weeks ago and Lord Lannister hasn’t replied yet. Both your brothers assure me it isn’t like your father to be passive, so… We are at our wits’ end.”

The Queen stared at the girl for a moment. Her mind was whirling with thoughts and emotions and Cersei’s first reaction was to stand up and scream at the insolent child who dared to _claim_ something so outrageous. But something was stopping the Queen. As she stared into the blue eyes of Lady Sansa, she had to concede that there was a flicker of something familiar in them.

It was believed that eyes were windows to the soul.

She hadn’t paid much attention to the girl after Lord Stark refused to betroth her to Joffrey. What had been the reason he had cited? Ah, yes, Sansa Stark’s soulmark.

“Show me the mark, _now_.”

“Cersei! That’s incredibly rude!”

“No one asked you, half-wit.”

Jaime was opening his mouth to defend his brother – as usual – and probably to tell her she was truly being impolite – she knew that, thank you – when Lady Sansa raised her hand to silence them all.

“If it would please you, Your Grace.”

She inconspicuously took off her glove and then offered her hand palm up to Cersei. The Queen hesitated only for a moment before she seized the hand, looking at it with bated breath.

“Gods, it is the same,” she gasped as soon as she saw it. Cersei hadn’t been as fascinated with their parents’ soulmarks as Jaime. Only those with marks felt the need to pay them any attention. She hadn’t spent hours begging their parents to let her look at them. However, there had been occasions when she had seen the mark both on their father’s hand and then on their mother’s. She remembered what they had looked like and what it had been like to touch them. Almost entranced and lost in her memories, the Queen brushed the tip of her forefinger against the center of the mark and felt Sansa’s hand twitch.

Cersei loved her family. She loved her twin brother and she was willing to admit that there had been moments when she felt genuine affection even for Tyrion – when he was not infuriating her, of course. She loved all her children unconditionally with the unadulterated, self-sacrificing love only a mother was capable of.

Lord Tywin Lannister, however, was another matter entirely. Her father evoked within Cersei wide range of emotions during different phases of her life. She had loved their father as a child. She had despised him during her adolescence. She had feared him, even, around the same time. When Jaime had told her about Father’s soulmark, all wide smiles and brightly burning hope, Cersei had not been so optimistic.

Their father’s attitude towards them had improved, she freely admitted that. Lord Tywin had taken more interest in his children’s lives, offered guidance, seemed _marginally_ warmer to them. Between Lord Tywin’s strict expectations and Jaime’s gentle coaxing, her sons were growing up to be men who understood their duty and position in society. Her brother and father were doing a better job than Robert ever could by showing them how knights and leaders should act.

Yet the man Cersei had loved as a little girl was still dead. He had died alongside their mother. The Queen could never understand the bond between soulmates but she had always used their mother’s death as an excuse for their father’s lack of affection. She had wanted to believe that it hadn’t been her fault, or Jaime’s, or even Tyrion’s. She had wanted to believe that their father had loved them in his own, crippled way even after Mother’s passing.

For the briefest of moments, Cersei wondered if she would get Father back – the man he had used to be so long ago. What a foolish idea, wasn’t it? Lannisters didn’t act like stupid, hopeful fools.

She let go of Sansa’s hand and swallowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Her voice was tightly controlled. “Don’t I have a right to know about something so fundamental to our family?”

The Little Dove was going to become their stepmother – that would be more than strange, but Cersei was secretly relieved that Sansa was not there to steal Jaime from her. She could have her father. The Queen could even thank her for bringing his humanity back to life if Sansa would manage it.

“I haven’t told my own family yet,” answered Sansa and her blue eyes beseeched Cersei not to take it so personally. “Not without hearing from Lord Lannister first.”

The rage at being kept in the dark that had been happily turning into an inferno simmered down suddenly. The Queen had often heard that she took after their father and if this was the effect Lady Sansa had on enraged Lannisters, they needed to change their words to _hear me purr_. Coming to think of it, Cersei couldn’t remember a single occasion of their father being furious when their mother had been alive.

“That was wise. Father wouldn’t want to confront Lord Stark without being certain about the soulbond first. However, you should have told me.” Cersei rearranged her skirt. “I would have told you why Father didn’t bother to reply sooner and spared your pretty little heads so much wondering…”

“Didn’t _bother_ to reply? That’s pretty insulting even for our father,” muttered Tyrion.

Jaime paled as he understood what the Queen was thinking. Cersei nodded her head at him. Her eyes settled on Sansa then and she added, “If you wrote him three weeks ago, it means Father is probably a day or two away from Winterfell. We should expect him soon.”

***

Three days later, a small company of riders was spotted approaching Winterfell. Ned wasn’t surprised to hear that their banners were red and gold. Contrary to popular belief down in the South, Northerners could use logic and the behavior of his eldest daughter and Ser Jaime together with the fact that both of them were blessed with a soulmark spoke volumes.

Ned wasn’t comfortable with the thought of giving his precious daughter to a Lannister but as long as the man had a soulmark to match Sansa’s, there wasn’t much he could do… But there was also the matter of Lysa’s suspicions to consider. Had the Lannisters truly murdered Jon? What would they gain if they had? Nothing. They already had a Lannister queen on the throne and Lord Tywin had refused the position of the Hand once already. He only hoped that his good-sister had been wrong. Women struck with grief often didn’t think clearly and Lysa… well, Lysa’s judgment had never been good. A certain short boy came to mind.

Ned wasn’t fond of the Kingslayer but at least the man was following customs to the letter; even though he was a man grown for some time, the head of his house was coming to negotiate the marriage as was only right. Lord Lannister would also be conveniently present for a subsequent wedding.

He grimaced as he made his way to the courtyard, idly wondering where Robert had gotten off to. He wouldn’t be too amused to wake up from his stupor to see his good-father in Winterfell but hopefully, he would be soothed to know that Sansa was joining his extended family. Robert was like Ned’s brother and he was glad to see how much the King cared about his family.

Arya and Prince Tommen were also something to think about in the future. Robert’s dream of joining their houses could very well become a reality if the youngsters would be kind not to kill each other. Ned had never before seen his younger daughter flustered in the presence of a boy. He chuckled. He wasn’t sure who to pity more – his daughter or the prince?

He could feel how much Cat was beside herself with alternating bouts of happiness on Sansa’s behalf, dread that they were going to welcome a Lannister in their family, and shock that her daughter was going to leave behind her home and childhood so soon. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to add the stress of Arya’s betrothal to the mix…

Ned heard the men and horses before he saw them. Rounding the corner, he put on his most polite expression to greet Lord Lannister and then stopped short. Ned refused to believe what he saw for a few moments and blinked. No, the scene in front of his eyes stayed the same.

It seemed that his daughter had been faster in welcoming the visitors. It also seemed that they had been wrong about _which_ Lannister bore Sansa’s soulmark.

Ned turned on his heel and marched back behind the corner, leaning heavily against the stone wall of his beloved castle. He needed a moment to compose himself and he liked to imagine that the solid structure of his home offered him some strength. Oh, he covered his eyes with his hand. He also needed to tell his wife about the unexpected development.

***

She had watched the riders from the battlements since the moment they had appeared in sight. It was a small company of twenty knights and their squires, the gold in their banners glittered in the afternoon sun, and they were reducing the distance separating them from Winterfell swiftly.

Then the rider at the head of the company stopped abruptly. He spotted her. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat and she gripped the stonewall with both her hands. The riders were too far away, just small figures in the distance but she had no doubt who he was – just like he seemed to know who the lonely woman on the battlements was.

He spurred the horse forward, urging the poor animal to go faster and faster, and soon left the rest of his company behind. Sansa breathed out loudly in relief; a terrible weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

He had truly come for her.

In the weeks that had passed between the discovery and this day, she had doubted herself and the mark almost constantly. Their age gap had been a prominent factor in most of those doubts.

Curious thing was that Sansa wasn’t dismayed by it in the slightest – even though she had been slightly shocked at the beginning, that first day. She was afraid instead that it was going to be her soulmate who would have issues with the age difference.

Old soul or not, Lord Tywin was still old enough to be her grandfather. What if he would think Sansa silly and stupid and immature as Cersei had thought at first? What if he would not wish to accept the soulbond? His lack of communication had only confirmed all those fears for Sansa before the Queen had assured her about the probable reason why there hadn’t been any letter.

Then there was Sansa’s family and their general dislike for southern lords and their wariness of the Lannister family in particular. Lord Tywin’s family had accepted her without hesitating. First had been Jaime and Tyrion, both men were surprisingly warm-hearted away from the public, and then even the Queen.

Queen Cersei was wary in ways her brothers were not. She observed Sansa with assessing eyes and spoke carefully chosen words like someone who had learned their lessons the hard way. Yet she offered Sansa comfort in a unique manner when she uttered here and now what of Sansa’s expressions or habits reminded her of Lord Tywin.

It eased Sansa’s mind the most because those words were proof that the bond between them had been in existence for so long that she had adopted some of his mannerism – or he some of hers. It also served as a reminder that there would be other lives to look forward to.

She straightened up and stepped out into the courtyard. Her hands were shaking but the expression on her face reflected nothing of Sansa’s turmoil and she appeared to be calm and collected.

Hooves clattered on the stone, thumping the ground impatiently, and suddenly the horse and its rider appeared and started to approach her with quick strides. Lord Tywin was wearing a helmet and full plate armor, the pauldrons decorated with lion heads, and a red sash over his shoulder. His horse reared up as he abruptly halted in front of Sansa. She could feel his eyes on her even though she couldn’t see his face.

“My lady,” he said in a voice partly deformed by the metal, and gracefully dismounted.

Sansa’s breath left her. Gods, he was tall. He towered over her with his broad shoulders and powerful frame but she wasn’t afraid – never of him, her fierce warrior.

Slowly, he reached up with both of his hands and took off the helmet.

Pale green eyes were the first thing she noticed and Sansa was captivated. He had tiny flecks of gold in them – they truly and fully matched her soulmark in colors – and stared at her with a breathtaking intensity. There were fine lines on his face, particularly around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead, some more prominent than the others. His hair and short, well-kept beard were still more golden than silver and it was almost impossible to discern where the traces of grey begun or ended.

His armor and the sash – she noticed just now – were splattered with a generous amount of dried blood. Was he hurt? Was it his blood? What had happened?

She looked up into his face and couldn’t find the words. Just looking at him, Sansa knew. Something inside of her hummed and tugged and swirled. The mark on her palm was burning. The anxiety that had been her constant companion for the last three weeks disappeared. There was nothing to doubt – it took only one look to recognize the simple fact that Lord Tywin Lannister was the other half of her soul.

Sansa’s knees gave up at that realization. The waiting was over, for both of them. Lord Lannister let his helmet fall to the ground and reached out to steady her. As soon as he held her by the arms, he brought her closer and said, “The blood is not mine. I’ve only done your father a favor and ridden the nearby forest of a riff-raff band of bandits.”

The humming and tugging and swirling didn’t stop. Sansa breathed in shakily and traced a long splatter over his breastplate with her fingers, staining her dove grey gloves. She needed to say something and she needed to say it _now_ otherwise Lord Lannister would think her a simpleminded idiot.

“Your apology for arriving late is accepted, then,” she finally said in a gentle, sweet tone, and flicked her eyes up to gauge his reaction.

“How gracious of you, my lady.” Lord Tywin’s lips twitched and he bowed his head. His right hand moved down her arm in a slow gentle caress and then settled at the small of her back. He then took Sansa’s left hand and placed it palm down on his breastplate, over the place where his heart was beating steadily.

They looked at each other, just smiling. It was a pity they were still wearing their gloves. She wanted to see if there was any change to her mark and how his looked, but the moment was too perfect to disturb it. Inside of her, everything settled into the right places. She felt warm, protected and _whole_. At the edge of her consciousness, something stirred lazily, content and radiating smugness.

“Ah,” he sighed and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, most of the burning intensity in them was gone, replaced by tenderness. “The bond has settled; I can feel your presence inside me. You accepted it.”

“Was there any doubt I would?” Sansa asked curiously and watched as Lord Tywin lifted slightly one of his shoulders and let it fall, the expression on his face never changing. But she felt his uncertainty. Shrugging like a boy – Jaime would be interested to hear that even his father wasn’t entirely above such human displays.

“There were some concerns, maybe. You are rather young, my dear.”

The rest of his company arrived but Sansa was unwilling to step away from him to maintain the semblance of propriety. Propriety be damned – there certainly were Stark men somewhere already gawking at their Lord’s daughter and some Southerner. His words warranted a reaction, however, and Sansa snuggled closer and pressed her face against the soft fabric of his sash.

“That’s only partially true, my lord. I’ve known you for what feels like a thousand years.”

“Probably closer to four or five, I’d say, given the long histories of our families.” Lord Tywin then turned his head slightly and his smile morphed into a smirk. “I believe I’ve just seen your father go through the shock of his life… Tell me, my lady, should I be worried that he is going to challenge me to a duel?”

“I haven’t told them yet… I wanted to wait for you.” Sansa was not going to admit that she had been afraid of being wrong. Now she was afraid of her family’s reaction. She prayed to the gods that they would be happy for her like Tywin’s children were happy for him.

He leaned closer and brushed her forehead with his lips. “You won’t be alone; in this life or the next.”

Those words resonated deeply within Sansa – she had heard them before, many times. It was a promise her soulmate had made in every life they had shared together and would continue to do so until the end of the world.

***

Denial was such a wonderful thing. Catelyn closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. The very idea of letting that man take away her Sansa was… it was… Cat didn’t have words to describe how it made her feel. It had been bad enough to think that poor Sansa had been going to marry the Kingslayer. But Tywin Lannister? The _Old_ Lion? The man who had eradicated two noble houses without batting an eye? The man who was responsible for Lysa’s grief?

Sansa deserved someone brave, gentle, and kind – not cold, ruthless, and unfettered in his attitude to the point of offensiveness who was murdering his opposition regularly.

Lady Stark glared at the man from across the hall where he sat surrounded by his children.

“Stop it, Catelyn,” whispered Ned softly into her ear and took her hand under the table. He squeezed it gently, pouring waves of reassurance and calmness through their bond. “Everyone can see you.”

“Let them! If he thinks he can just strut into our home and demand our daughter’s hand in marriage, then he is sorely mistaken!” She couldn’t believe that her husband was taking it so calmly and pushed against his soothing presence at the back of her mind. This was their daughter whose happiness was at stake and the man who wanted to marry her was a monster!

“Their marks are matching.” The sigh that left him let Cat know that he was far from content with the situation – he was just much better at dealing with it. So why was he sitting here and doing nothing? She had just known that nothing good could come from Robert’s visit.

“Have you seen his mark?” she demanded.

“I have seen _them_,” he said patiently. “A blind man could see the strength of their bond. They didn’t have to speak a single word to accept the bond – it settled as soon as they laid eyes at each other. It’s the will of the gods, my love.”

Catelyn was observing the pride of lions with distaste. Lord Lannister was looking exasperated and his words seemed clipped. Not even his children seemed too happy to sit close to their father. The Imp was mostly silent and didn’t join the conversation around him much. The Queen wore a detached expression and avoided her father’s eyes every time she spoke to him. Only the Kingslayer chatted and chatted, his eyes bright and face open.

This was the family her beloved daughter was going to join?

“Catelyn, please. The children will get ideas,” begged her husband again.

Cat glanced to her right and saw how Robb was measuring the Lannisters with a frown on his handsome face. Arya was downright plotting something unpleasant. Oh, let the lions know that wolves also had claws. If the Old Lion thought he would get her daughter just because he wished it, he had another thing coming.

“When you negotiate the marriage with him, tell him that we wish for a long betrothal; a year at least. Do you hear me, Ned?” With any luck, Lord Lannister would fall off his horse and break his neck in the meantime.

Her husband gave her a wide-eyed look and opened his mouth to argue. Before he could say something, however, Sansa floated into the great hall. Cat abruptly felt most of her ire disappear and it was replaced by acute pain.

Her daughter was glowing. She radiated happiness and it made her more beautiful than ever. Sansa didn’t even spare a glance at her own family and continued to soar toward the lions, completely oblivious to her surroundings. They stopped talking and turned to smile at her. All _four_ of them – even the aloof Queen turned her lips upwards amusedly.

Lord Lannister rose from his seat, went around the table and clasped Sansa’s hands with his own. That was the moment when Catelyn noticed that her daughter was not wearing her customary gloves – and his large hands were bare, too.

They held hands and stared at each other for a moment before Lord Tywin guided her to sit next to him – his sons making room without hesitation. The Imp said something that made his brother laugh. The Queen rolled her eyes and Lord Lannister raised his eyebrows. Sansa smiled demurely and replied. The younger men started to chuckle.

The whole picture changed with the addition of Sansa into their midst. The Imp was engaging her in a conversation, his mismatched eyes alive and his deformed face animated. It made him look less ugly somehow. Lord Lannister still held Sansa’s hand in his loosely and was piling food on her plate with the other one. He was silent, only quipping a word here and now, but his expression was less severe, relaxed one could say, and his eyes held the same kind of warmth Catelyn had seen in Ned’s eyes when her husband looked at her or their children. Ser Jaime was just as aglow as Sansa, beaming broadly as he butted into the conversation between his brother and Sansa. His eyes would often stray to his twin sister and the Queen would return his wide grin with a small smile, looking less like a permanently irritated beast of prey.

“How it could be possible? That my daughter is to marry the man who murdered my sister’s husband?” she whispered. Sansa looked so much at home at Lord Lannister’s side it was devastating to watch.

“What if Lysa was wrong, Cat? Think about it. The Lannisters didn’t have any reason to do it. They have all the power they need. The grandson of their house is going to be the next King… it just doesn’t add up.” Ned frowned and Catelyn felt his worry. “What if someone is trying to play all of us?”

They were silent for some time and Catelyn was going over everything she knew about the Lannisters and her sister and her husband. She wished to say that she trusted Lysa above everyone else but the truth was, Lysa had been even as a girl easily fooled and had the awful habit to jump to conclusions without any evidence. If someone had fooled her to lead Ned into conflict with the Lannisters… Her head hurt.

“We’re not really suited for the southern games, are we?” The North was so different, less complicated. You knew a friend from foe. Her poor, poor daughter. However was Sansa going to survive her new marriage? All Sansa had ever wanted was to meet her soulmate and be happy. How it could be possible?

“Our future good-son is a player. Lord Lannister is going to be our immediate family, is soulbonded to our daughter. I’ll ask his opinion on the situation,” decided Ned finally. “We have to trust him in this. What hurts us, hurts Sansa – and he would never allow her to be hurt. All will be well, my love.”

Cat closed her eyes and finally allowed her husband to soothe her frantic emotions; the panic and fear she felt for her daughter. It seemed the gods had granted Sansa her wish for someone fierce and strong. She hoped that Sansa would know how it felt to be loved and cherished by the other half of her soul in the same way Cat had. Lord Lannister wasn’t Ned but perhaps he would be capable of loving their daughter more than his gold, influence and power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I smell a happy ending in the air… *grins* You might have noticed that ‘Sanctuary’ evolved into a multi-chapter now and that there is a new Ty/Sansa fic up, called ‘Lord of Casterly Rock.’ I’m happy to say that I’m very pleased with the way both stories seem to work, so check it out and let me know what you think about them. Also, ‘Colors’ are now officially five chapters long. It’s difficult to say goodbye to this AU. Thanks for reading and see you around :)


	4. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets to punch someone, Tywin and Sansa are adorable, and Robert’s first sober thoughts in the last decade lead him to some interesting conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the land of eternal fluff and I hope you enjoy it :)

Arya was ready. It had been a year and she was ready to face the _boy_ again. She couldn’t believe how flustered she had been because of him. Who cared that Tommen Baratheon had bloody dimples and eyes blue like the ocean and that he was so tall and so… so… Who cared?!

She certainly _didn’t_.

Her horse galloped ahead the rest of the company; Arya wanted to be the first one to see King’s Landing. Sansa’s letters home were always praising the capital; how warm the city was, how exotic the food, how pleasurable the company.

Arya wasn’t fooled. Sansa didn’t care about the warm climate or food. She probably didn’t even care about being an honored guest of the Queen in the capital as long as the King’s Hand was within the same city boundaries.

She remembered how unhappy Sansa had been after the news of a year-long betrothal. Lord Lannister had lingered around Winterfell for two moons until his duties had called him away and that had been the moment her sister had started to resemble a living corpse – always sad, barely eating, barely sleeping. Then the Queen had invited Sansa to visit the capital at the same time when the King had finally named a new Hand; the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Only an idiot would miss the connection and Arya could hardly believe it but she was actually starting to _tolerate_ the royal family for that. She was even willing to admit that she liked Sansa’s future husband. He didn’t mince his words and was fun to watch when he dressed somebody down. He didn’t expect Arya to be more ladylike or polite or less interested in strategy and weaponry. He also treated her big sister with respect and admiration. Yes, Arya quite liked her future good-brother. It was a pity he wasn’t a little younger – he wasn’t going to be around for as long as Sansa.

Frowning at that thought, Arya shook her head. After witnessing how badly had Sansa taken a mere separation from her soulmate, she shuddered to think how her sister would eventually react to him dying.

Still unwillingly contemplating those dark thoughts, Arya came to a halt as she observed a pair of riders quickly approaching across a field. They were wearing simple leather armor and no insignia indicating their loyalty. Arya glanced back to the bend of the road. Her father’s men were not there.

Well, she wasn’t a toothless puppy, was she?

“Greetings!” called the first rider cheerfully and Arya suppressed the need to groan. Of course, it had to be the bloody second-born prince himself. “We were expecting you. Consider me your honor guard, my dear Lady Arya.”

“I’m not a lady, dimwit.”

“Oooh, that sounds like she’s insulting you, my prince,” remarked the other rider.

They stopped close to her and both men took off their helmets. She had to blink to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her. Prince Tommen looked like she remembered him – apart from growing half a head taller and much broader in the shoulders. The other young man looked remarkably like Tommen – blue eyes, dark hair, broad and tall and grinning like a fool but not as handsome.

“This is my half-brother Edric Storm,” he said. “Uncle Stannis said it’s high time for our father to take his own damned responsibility for his bastards and here we are. Did you know that one of my other half-brothers is a blacksmith? He’s made a gloriously fine sword and a little dagger I’m going to give to Grandfather Tywin and Lady Sansa as wedding gifts, wait until you see them! Gendry is going to be the best armorer in the Seven Kingdoms. Anyway… How was your journey South? Where’s the rest of your company? You look just as pretty as I remembered. Can I ask you for a dance at the feast tonight, my lady?”

Her heart started to beat way too quickly for her liking. Had she really believed that she had been ready to face him? He was making her feel… He was making her furious! Arya snapped her jaw shut and forced out, “For the last time, you idiot, I am not a lady.”

Prince Tommen nodded seriously and replied, “Sure, my lady.”

With a savage cry, Arya threw herself from the saddle and tackled the annoying boy to the ground, landing on top of him. As soon as she caught her breath, she proceeded to hit Tommen’s chest. “I.Am.Not.A.Bloody.Lady. Do.You.Get.It?”

Edric started to laugh loudly and did absolutely nothing to intervene. The prince sat up easily and caught her hands in one of his, still beaming broadly. Then he snaked his arm around her back and rose to his feet as if she weighed nothing. “Sure, you’re not a random lady, my lady, but what do you say? Be _mine_?”

“Let me go, you idiot!”

“Alright, I understand. We need to take it to our fathers first,” he said with that thoughtfully serious expression Arya _hated_. “I missed you, you know. It’s not the same when I’m insulted and hit by anyone else. Actually, I don’t let anyone else hit or insult me… because Arya, it’s not nice of you to be so mean to me… but I think that we can get over that and that we don’t need a soulmark to tell us that we are two sides of the same coin. I guess that there’s some truth to what they say about Stark women and Baratheon men…”

“Will you shut up? You talk too much!” Arya growled and pressed her lips against his for a moment. He fell blissfully silent after that, giving Arya a wide-eyed stare. His hold tightened and he hugged her closer.

“Do it again?”

“So that’s what it takes to silence you, my prince?” mused Edric, almost falling off his horse in his fit of laughter. “Pardon me but I’m not going to try that – ever.”

“Are all your brothers idiots like you, Tommen?”

“We all take after our father,” he shrugged. “Well, not Joffrey but then again, he’s starting to resemble Grandfather Tywin and that is frightening. Imagine that your sister gives him children – little Lannisters running around, scaring the lights out of every highborn lord and lady in the Seven Kingdoms. I wonder if the kids would be blond like Lannisters or red-headed like Tullys, or if they would be like mini-Starks with Lannister personalities….”

“For the love of the gods! Shut up.” Arya kissed him again, this time her lips lingered on his for a moment longer. As far as second kisses went, it wasn’t so bad.

He carefully put her down and smiled at her. Arya punched his shoulder for good measure before she said, “I’m willing to stop hitting you if you are not going to embarrass me in front of my family with romantic talks when you speak to my father. Actually, try to not talk more than you really have to. Can you do that?”

“You have my word, my lady.” He grabbed their horses’ reins and started walking towards the nearest tree. “Shall we wait for the rest of your father’s company? Oh, is it true that Northerners breed direwolves? Could we get one as our wedding gift from someone from the North? Just imagine how impressive it would look if we were to ride a direwolf into some sort of battle. Oh, well… are they really big enough to substitute horses? I mean…”

Arya punched him again.

***

Tywin abandoned his fishing as soon as he felt Sansa’s discomfort. It had become natural for him to feel Sansa’s general mood and it did wonders for his own disposition, as Tyrion liked to remark loudly and often. What it actually meant was that Lord Lannister was irritated less _obviously_ with idiots than had been his usual norm. Her serenity and contentment at the back of his mind soothed him when Tywin reached the limits of his patience. In return, his presence in her mind helped Sansa to adapt and thrill in the viper’s nest that was the capital.

He took the stairs leading up from the water two at a time and nodded at his guard. One of them passed over his sword belt and he fastened it when already marching in Sansa’s direction.

Who dared to upset his soulmate? Every peasant in King’s Landing knew who Lady Sansa was and everyone with a brain understood that she was _untouchable_. While Robert wore the crown and Cersei flaunted around her supposed power, the smart ones knew who ruled the Seven Kingdoms.

The stone path in front of him was familiar and often traveled. While he fished in the early mornings in the cove directly under the Red Keep, Sansa utilized a secluded corner of the palace garden nearby to learn the harp. When Tywin was finished, he would join her in the garden and they would eat breakfast and talk about their plans for the day. Sometimes, she would wander the path instead and spent the early hours of the day observing him as they talked. Or he would find his way to the garden sooner and listen to her practice. Even when Tywin was too occupied with his duties, he would find a few moments to walk with his betrothed through the other parts of the gardens or take her out for a short ride through the vicinity of King’s Landing. The mornings were theirs and they enjoyed the time of their courtship.

Tywin’s most fierce contenders for Sansa’s free time were his own children. He usually found one of them – or all of them – in the company his soulmate when he went to look for her during the day. Jaime had taken it upon himself to be around as much as his duties allowed – it brought back memories of his son as a young boy when he had often proclaimed that he and _no one else_ would be his mother’s sworn-shield. Tywin’s eldest son and betrothed could spend hours sitting in silence without growing restless or bored.

Of course, the most probable place where Tywin would find Sansa was with Cersei in the Queen’s private wing. The two of them would usually coo over his youngest grandchild and try to catch him before he crawled off somewhere. The boy already talked, managing simple words like _mama_, _Sasa_, _Jam_ and _Tyri_ showing who had spent the most time around the prince.

Speaking of Tyrion, he was the worst. While both Jaime and Cersei had the decency to leave them to their devices once Tywin found his soulmate in their presence, Tyrion did not. His youngest son would gleefully stay with them, talking and talking and talking – and ignoring all and every attempt at dismissal. When plainly asked to leave, he would reply in just as a plain tone of voice: “Leave, Father? I can’t do that… You see, someone has to chaperone you two.” The boy liked to test his father’s patience, didn’t he?

The servants and guards liked to talk and it was no secret that Lord Tywin Lannister and Lady Sansa Stark were a soulmated pair. There already were songs about them to Sansa’s utter delight. The smallfolk loved their story and Tywin was usually fervently greeted by them every time he made an appearance in the city. When his betrothed was by his side, the crowds cheered louder than they ever did for the King.

Tywin slowed down as he neared the garden and motion to his guards to be quiet. He could hear muffled voices – Sansa’s sweet tones were tinged with displeasure.

The other voice belonged to _Baelish_.

What that upstart little whoremonger thought he was doing in Sansa’s presence? Tywin was not amused. He silently moved closer and stood under the shadow of the trees secluding the garden from view.

Sansa was sitting on the stone bench she usually occupied when she played and Baelish had planted himself next to her and was currently leaning inappropriately close.

He felt Sansa’s relief when she noted his presence but she didn’t acknowledge it in any other way, her focus solely on Baelish. He would wait and see – Sansa seemed to have the situation under control. It would also be amusing to watch her shed her courtesies and show her claws – and she was quickly nearing that point.

“-you for your concern, but I’m quite happy with my situation. It is kind of you to ask, though.”

“You are a true lady, Lady Sansa, gentle and dutiful – it speaks highly of your character,” conceded Baelish with a bow of his head and reached to touch Sansa’s hand. She snatched it away and smiled serenely, adjusting her sleeves as an excuse for the sudden movement. Tywin smirked.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.”

“I am your mother’s old friend, we grew up together. Surely you can call me Petyr when it is just us, my lady.” He was still leaning too close to his soulmate for Tywin’s liking. The way Baelish’s eyes roved over Sansa’s face was also quite irritating; the look in them spoke of hunger and want. He was going way too far. Baelish’s interest in the Tully sisters had been a well-known scandal that everyone still remembered. Had he shifted his attention to Sansa? Hadn’t he learned that nothing could stand between a pair of soulmates?

Ha, as if Tywin would allow it. He was hardly an impotent old fool like Jon Arryn – and he would not have a brothel-keeper sniffing around his wife. Baelish was not doing himself any favors –coupled with the information Tywin’s men had already gathered about Littlefinger, this was the last straw.

“You are my mother’s _friend_ but we don’t know each other all that much, my lord. It would not be proper.” Sansa shifted slightly away, the warning in her words subtle but present nonetheless. His soulmate had noticed Baelish’s ogling and she didn’t appreciate it either.

Baelish tilted his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully. “Perhaps that could change in time…”

“Perhaps not, Baeslish,” Tywin growled and strode to the pair with long steps.

“My lord!” Baelish rose speedily and bowed, his face morphing into a pleasantly surprised expression. “What a wonderful morning we have!”

“Good morning, _Tywin_.” Sansa gave him a brilliant smile and stressed his name intentionally to show where things stood between all of them. “_Lord Baelish_ was keeping me company while I waited for you.”

“Was he? How generous.” Tywin leaned down to kiss both her cheeks and then moved to stand behind Sansa, his right hand settling on her shoulder. She seized his left and pulled it close to her chest and smiled at Baelish.

“Yes, we had a wonderful chat,” Sansa continued in what others would think was oblivious, happy tone, and leaned back against him. It was probably improper to show such familiarity in front of a company but it did get her point across nicely.

“Hmm.” Tywin stared him down. It wasn’t hard considering how short the man was.

“Now that you are in the capable hands of your betrothed, I’ll take my leave. It was a pleasure.” Baelish had the decency to recognize when he wasn’t wanted and turned tail. Tywin wished Tyrion would learn that lesson.

“My lady, my lord, allow me to wish you a pleasant-”

“Yes, yes. Go already.” Tywin waved him away and watched him bow one more time and leave. Once he was out of sight, he addressed Sansa’s guards, “Do not allow him to come close to my future wife again, or I’ll have you shipped to the Wall.”

“Tywin, that’s not necessary,” protested Sansa and tugged at his arm, urging him to sit down next to her. “Lord Baelish’s presence makes me merely uncomfortable but I can deal with him – you don’t need to threaten our poor guards.”

“I wasn’t threatening them, I was stating a fact.” Tywin scoffed and shook his head as he sat down on the bench. “I’ll also have Baelish dealt with.”

Sansa regarded him unblinkingly. She had grown in so many ways in the last year. The most prominent change had occurred while he had returned to Casterly Rock and she had had to remain in Winterfell. The separation had forced them to rely solely on their bond to keep them somehow close to each other for several long _moons_. It had been stressful and painful and tested his patience as nothing ever had before but they had survived it. The bond had only grown stronger, _they_ had grown stronger.

Without Cersei’s interference on their behalf, he would have probably kidnapped Sansa and simply eloped.

“Is it needed?” she asked simply. She would have agreed to that scenario, Tywin smiled.

“Yes.” He let her entwine their fingers together and felt himself relax slightly as he tucked Sansa close to his side. Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he explained, “I’m beginning to think that he is much more dangerous than anyone have suspected. He has visited your aunt twice in the Eyrie since the death of your uncle and my sources believe that they have been having an affair for years. Also, the investigation into his death suggests a poison and together with the letter your parents received from Lady Arryn before I arrived in Winterfell… Someone has been trying to stir trouble and wedge a knife between our families. The bond we share put a stop to that but it doesn’t mean that the person won’t try again.”

“You believe that Lord Baelish is behind it?”

“Him – or Varys. The lack of damning evidence suggests it’s someone skilled in the art of manipulation and deceit. Only these two come to mind and only these two have nothing to gain at a first glance which is suspicious itself.”

Sansa turned her head a nuzzled the pulse point underneath his ear, the little minx. She loved to test the limits of his restraint as they had been counting the days until their wedding.

“Then there are the rumors about Joffrey’s legitimacy… while it is _nonsense_… if something were to happen to the King and the Hand of the King and the Baratheon brothers believed those rumors to be true, they would demand Tommen ascend the throne and my oldest grandson would call for Lannister and Tyrell support while Tommen would not like to be killed and would flee the capital joining forces with his uncles, raising the Stormlands’ army to his defense and possibly gaining Dorne’s support if he married one of Ellia’s daughters…”

“A civil war would break out,” his clever soon-to-be little wife said, sneaking her small warm hands under his shirt. Her touch left him _burning_. “The King wanted my father to become the Hand. With Aunt Lysa’s letter in mind, Father would have supported any Lannister opposition and brought the North into the mess.”

With his eyes closed, he considered what he should do to repay Sansa back, as her hands continued to burn their path across his chest. “Most of the major houses would be squabbling and Baelish would just sit tight in the Eyrie waiting for the rest to decimate each other with the Vale’s intact army at his beck and call. Not to mention that he’s been stealing from the Crown since Robert named him Master of coin and could finance a small army of his own.”

“I doubt any of this would hold in court. Only the stealing would stick on someone as sleazy as Lord Baelish… and King Robert would likely just cut off his hand as if he were a common thief.”

Tywin smirked and moved his lips to breathe against her ear, “And that’s the reason why we won’t involve the King’s justice.”

She shivered in anticipation and Tywin brought her closer, trailed his lips from her ear to her jaw and… Extracting her hands from under his shirt, he moved her quickly into his lap and hugged her from behind, holding her securely between his arms. She pouted and tried to turn. He didn’t budge.

“That’s not fair, Tywin.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a fair man.”

What all the small folk and other utter fools forgot was that soulmates were bonded for a reason. They looked at his betrothed and saw a gentle spirit with sweet nature to balance Tywin’s hard, ruthless personality. A story from a song. They often seemed to completely ignore that both of them were cunning and dedicated to what they believed to matter – their families, the realm, the security provided by strong leadership.

“Tywin…” She fought against his grip and tilted her head to look at him. Once, he had believed he would never see the perfect summer sky blue in this life again. Yet here she was, staring at him with laughter and love in her gaze.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t kissed your betrothed this morning yet, you know. After all this plotting, I think I need something to distract me from King’s Landing politicking. Actually, I demand a good morning kiss.”

“Ah, as my lady wishes, then.”

It wouldn’t take long before one of his children would wander in to demand their share of his soulmate’s attention. He needed to make most of this opportunity to have Sansa for himself.

***

Robert felt happy. He felt also old. And unreasonably sober. He had promised his wife not to embarrass their friends and families by falling off his chair and he intended to keep it. He also wanted to don plain plate armor and participate in the tourney with his visor down the whole time. He had trained and even lost weight so he could fit into one that would not give away his identity… and then had Ned come and told him to quit being so damned irresponsible. Nobody would joust against their King and everybody would recognize him by his booming laughter alone.

Still, one could dream, eh? Even if one had to remain sober, damn! But he didn’t mind his promise to Cersei _too_ much.

This way, as she had remarked, he could remember the wedding ceremony and the feast and _even_ the tourney much better. He had to agree that seeing Sansa Stark put a dazzled smile on Tywin Lannister’s face was a sight he wished to remember for a long time. Not that he had anything against his Hand. It just felt strange to see a man like Lord Lannister content and his good-father was awfully content right now. Also smug. His good-father was awfully smug.

The newlyweds were sitting at the high table, of course, and were currently feeding each other fruit and lemon cakes. Robert sat close enough to actually see what had been happening; how they kept _looking_ at each other, how that naughty, naughty girl would lick the fingers that fed her, and where exactly Lord Lannister’s free hand was resting under the table.

Robert didn’t need to see what that hand was doing there. The two of them looked ready to tear their clothes off and have a go at it right here and there. He should probably call for the bedding soon.

If it were anyone else, Robert would probably applaud and say something along the lines that they had his blessing to continue on the bloody table. Not with these two, though. Just _no_. He certainly didn’t want to know, see or think about his bloody good-father and Ned’s little girl making babies; just like he didn’t want to ever think about his little girl making babies with anyone. Ever.

Honestly, daughters and nieces should be banned from growing up.

He glanced at Ned and found him vehemently avoiding looking in the newlyweds’ direction which made him chuckle. Good to know he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable here.

His children were enjoying themselves, he noticed next. Joffrey and his betrothed – that young Tyrell girl – were conversing in hushed tones and the lovely young lady blushed here and there. Ah, to be young again! Now, thinking about Margaery Tyrell and making babies was not making Robert uncomfortable seeing that she wasn’t his daughter and he didn’t consider her his niece. Such a pretty thing…

Myrcella was mingling with the guests, currently talking to some Martell boy and – who allowed them to stand so close? Nevermind, that boy was not getting anywhere near his daughter after tonight, Robert would see to it.

Tommen was sitting next to Ned’s other daughter, the ferocious little she-wolf. However, she had grown up in the last year and wasn’t so little anymore, he guessed. Their betrothal had been announced three days ago and both their families planned to wait for at least two or three years before allowing them to exchange their vows. His second-born was too young to marry yet but marry he would and he would wed no one else but the girl next to him. Stubborn boy.

His sons had grown up in a blink. One moment, they were small boys clutching their mother’s skirt and in the next, he had two grown-up heirs who were following Lord Tywin’s word as if it was the law of gods. A part of him acknowledged it as a good thing – gods knew he wasn’t comfortable as a king and his Hand was better suited to rule the realm and had taught them more about governing than Robert ever could. A larger part of him felt cheated of his rightful place. Robert could hardly remember spending any time with the boys. He hadn’t taught them to ride or swing a sword, or hunt – and it stung.

Watching Tommen and Arya made him feel nostalgic. The boy looked like Robert at that age and she resembled Lyanna quite strongly. Robert’s dream was coming true – just not quite in the way he had dreamt of as a young man. Watching them also didn’t bring out the wave of emotions Robert would expect. There was some regret, certain wistfulness, yes, but not that crippling wave of rage and grief and longing – it hadn’t been there for a long time.

Oh, Lyanna, he sighed in his mind and turned from the scene. Watching his children and their partners, watching his damned good-father and his new wife… He couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to love his wife. Was it too late to find out?

Glancing at his wife to ponder this serious question, he noticed that she didn’t look so well. Cersei was pale and had glassy eyes. Was it the drink? Was she going to puke? He doubted that – his wife would not shame herself in such a way. Was it a headache? He was quite familiar with those.

“Are you alright, my queen?” he asked, leaning over to her chair. He propped up his elbow on her armrest and whispered, “Would you like me to fetch you something other than wine to drink?”

She looked at him, startled, and her eyes filled with tears to Robert’s utter panic. She shook her head, “No, thank you, Your Grace.”

He frowned. Cersei’s voice didn’t sound like her at all. It was wobbly, emotional. They were in public and as she liked to remind him, one must keep pretenses in public. What the heck was happening?

“Cersei? What is it?” Robert asked uncomfortably and covered her hand with his after a moment of hesitation. It was trembling slightly. “Tell me. If someone upset you, I’ll have him flogged.”

The Queen scoffed and sniffed delicately, turning her head to hide her face in his neck. Surprised by the sudden display of intimacy, he moved his chair closer to hers and shielded her from most of the view, internally panicking. The mother of his four legitimate children had never behaved like this where anyone could see her. There was certain affection between them, he knew, and he did hold her in high regard. He would offer her comfort if she needed it. It was the least Robert could do for his queen even if it made him so uncomfortable.

After all, she had shown a lot of understanding when his bastards had started to pop around the city. Might be Sansa’s doing, though – the girl had the uncanny ability to calm down almost anyone and of course, none of his bastards were younger than Tommen, and before his second-born’s arrival, their relationship hadn’t been on good terms… However, Robert still wasn’t talking to Stannis for that. He would, eventually, just not now.

“It’s… Father… and… Jaime… He’s… he’s…”

Jaime? Robert frowned and tried to follow her thought process. Her twin brother had fallen off his horse earlier in the afternoon. The mighty knight had been knocked off almost effortlessly by a giantess of a woman from Renly’s personal guard and hadn’t been seen ever since.

“I’m sure he’s alright, probably just resting. Don’t worry about him, the fall wasn’t dangerous, just shook him a little…”

“That woman was his soulmate!” Cersei breathed out and he wasn’t sure how to understand it. Wasn’t that a good thing? Completely at a loss, Robert brought his arm up and put it around her shaking shoulders. Gods, was she crying silently? He had no idea how to deal with crying women! None at all!

“I’m sure she didn’t wish to harm him, my queen.”

“You don’t understand!”

Well, obviously. “So tell me.”

Cersei didn’t answer at first and just fisted the front of his robe. He let her go on for several moments before he moved his hand and palmed the back of her neck. Gently moving her head to look at him, he repeated, “Tell me.”

“My father is married now… and he’ll take his wife to the Rock and leave the capital… and Jaime’s found h-his soulmate… Tyrion will happily whore his way around the rest of the continent soon… and what am I to do, Robert? I never expected that anyone would come and take my twin away… I don’t want to be the only one of my family alone and miserable…”

His queen was having a meltdown right here and now and Robert glanced around, looking for help. The Hand of the King and his new wife noticed. Lord Tywin was glaring at him, as was his usual tactic whenever Robert managed to upset Cersei, and his look alone was enough to make Robert gulp. It wasn’t his fault, damn it! Lady Sansa was urging him to embrace Cersei more tightly, nodding encouragingly. Would that help? Sansa knew what she was doing – she was a woman and she was Cersei’s close confidant, or at least he thought so. The complexity of the relationship between the two women quite eluded him.

He followed the advice to the letter – and then some. He rose abruptly and took Cersei with him. Honestly, after four children one would expect his wife to put some meat on her bones. He still could carry her easily. Tightening his grip on his shocked wife, he turned and strode away, ignoring the muttering that broke out.

Lord Lannister’s voice rose and was making excuses for the royal couple just when Robert got out of earshot.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you up to the nursery.”

“Why? Put me down, Robert! I’m not some rag doll for you to drag me about in this manner!”

“No.”

Cersei struggled for a moment weakly but then she just sighed and let him do as he pleased. It was a clear sign of how weary and emotionally spent his wife was. When they fought, she never gave up that easily.

By the time they arrived at the nursery, Robert was glad to put her down and swept the sweat from his forehead with a sigh. “I’m not as young as I used to be!”

“Or slim, hmm?”

“Don’t be grouchy, Cersei.”

He moved around her to open the door, clasped her hand and dragged her inside the bright room where their youngest son was currently sleeping. “Come here, my queen.”

They stopped next to the crib and Robert marveled at the child. Jon was a mixture of his parents – there was a shock of dark hair on his head and he had his strong voice and the famous Baratheon jawline. The boy’s eyes were green, however, and the shape of Jon’s cheekbone was copying Lord Tywin’s and his lips were Cersei’s. He would grow up to be a very handsome man who would learn to swing a bloody war hammer from his own father, Robert decided.

“Look at that boy, Cersei, and dare to tell me you are alone and miserable.”

“Of course I didn’t mean it in the context of my children!” she shook her head, glaring at him. Here she was, the feisty lioness he had been so reluctant to marry but who had done more than right by him. Had he done right by her, though? Had he done right by their children? He would, starting now.

He stepped closer and grinned. “In what context did you mean it, then? Bedroom?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now!” His wife hissed, spun around and made to stalk out.

“Wait!” he called, cringed when he realized that he could wake up his son, and grabbed her arm. “Wait, I didn’t mean to insult you, Cersei. You’re afraid of being alone, if I understand it, in the sense of… not having a partner to share your life with. Is that it? That’s what’s bothering you. Your father found and married his soulmate, your twin brother found his today, your other brother doesn’t give a damn about relationships… But you…”

He actually didn’t know how to finish his thoughts. Robert wasn’t entirely sure what his thoughts _were_ and what he had been trying to say. He just knew that he had been thinking about this for some time. “I know I haven’t treated you as well as you deserve but I am your husband and this is our son. No one will take that from you.”

Robert must have done something either terribly wrong or extremely right because Cersei was back to sobbing against his chest in a blink. He embraced her with a sigh and mused loudly, “I’ve been thinking, Cersei… I feel… I mean… I don’t think I can go around producing any more bastards…”

He grimaced. Robert had never been good with words when it mattered. That sounded stupid and it didn’t cover at all what he was trying to say. It also sounded like he couldn’t bed a woman anymore, didn’t it? He damn well could. He was just feeling like the fun had gone from the activities. There was no thrill of the chase – women fell into his bed because he was the King and had the gold. Not because they really wanted to, or because they found him handsome, or because they knew to expect pleasurable encounter. Cersei had always appreciated the pleasure he brought her and bedded him only when she truly wanted him.

Robert felt as if he should clarify and said, “I’ll give _you_ as many children as you’d like, my queen… oh, damn… there, there… oh, gods, please, stop crying…”

And somehow, her cries turned into muffled laughter and Robert chuckled at what a pair of stubborn fools they had been. They should have had this conversation ages ago but late was better than never, he supposed.

Robert didn’t think of Lyanna after that day much, and his second daughter was born with a beautiful silver and grey soulmark. He took it as a sign that he had done something right and the gods were pleased enough to bless his line with their most precious gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff and OOCness… Sorry, not sorry. I hope you enjoyed the glimpse of Ty’s and Sansa’s world-ruling life together. Also, Tywin and fishing – has anyone else seen that deleted scene? Yep, that’s the inspiration behind their morning routine. Arya and Tommen moment was a nod to Gendry, so I hope it made you laugh. I have no excuse for the Robert bit. I think he had the potential to be a great character but he let it all slip through his fingers. Jaime’s soulmate literally knocked him from his horse *grins* These two might be worth a one-shot, what do you think? Petyr had it also coming – yes, when I was plotting this, I was also working on Sanctuary and you can see how each of my stories influences the others. It’s fun to be a writer, isn’t it?  
This was supposed to be the very end of my three-part story. As you can see, it doesn’t have three parts and this is not the end. There’s the last chapter to look forward to. My boss has dropped a business trip on me, however, so I’m off to Italy for the remainder of the month. There probably won’t be any updates until I get back. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think and I’ll see you around. Cheers, Mage :)  
Next time: Lord Lannister


	5. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Lannister, for the very last time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome and enjoy the final part of this story, it was an honor to share it with you all.

The passing of years hadn’t bent his broad shoulders. At four and seventy, the Lord of Casterly Rock stood as tall as ever. He could still swing his sword as a much younger man could, still rode a well-trained white destrier and still wore plate armor decorated with roaring lions on the road. It was a habit all Lannister men had adopted – better be safe than sorry. His hair and beard were pure snow white, though, and there was no trace of gold in them anymore.

However, he felt the years in his bones and needed to rest before he ventured from his chambers again. The journey from King’s Landing where he served as the Hand of the King for so long had exhausted him. He knew he would not be repeating it before the Stranger would beckon to him.

He had only one reason why he had bothered to come all the way to the Rock again. He wanted to see _her_ one last time before the snows made it impossible. Yet another winter was coming, something the Starks never stopped being smug about, and Lord Lannister was well aware that he would not be seeing the next summer.

The time had come to let the younger generations take over, to fight their own battles and struggle through life with the gifts they had been given. He wouldn’t be there to see it, to guide them, but he was confident that his children and their children after them would manage. They were Lannisters and theirs was the blessed blood of gods’ favorites.

Their legacy would last for thousands of years.

A little blond girl laughed as she hopped down the stairs to the courtyard. She catapulted herself into his arms, reaching around his neck with a delighted cry.

“Oh, hello precious girl, I have missed you so much!” he chuckled as he held her close, breathing in the smell of her hair. There was something innocent and light in the way children’s hair smelled. “Let me look at you! Oh my, you have grown so much!”

“You’ve been away for so long!” she said softly. “I missed you, too!”

Lord Lannister took a look around and not seeing the child’s mother or her septa, he bounced the girl in his arms and turned on his heel to steal her away for himself. “Let’s go down to the beach, shall we?”

“I want to go to the gardens… Can we, please? I want to hear about the lion again. Will you tell me?”

He stopped momentarily to gaze into her Tully blue eyes. “Of course, my darling. To the gardens, we go.”

Lord Lannister lifted her up and set her on his shoulders to the girl’s utter delight. As he strode away, holding the child securely with his hands on her knees, he started to tell her a story they both knew quite well. She had listened to it countless times and never tired of hearing it again.

“Once upon a time, there lived an old lion who had been alone in the entire world for most of his years. He would grumble and growl at others who would try to approach him and he would tear his enemies to shreds with long and sharp claws. How does a lion do, my little one?”

“He roars!”

“He roars, yes! So, this mighty lion would roar and all would tremble when they heard.”

“Why was he lonely?”

Lord Lannister smiled as a small hand touched his cheek. They had reached the castle’s garden – his mother had been the one who had designed it and her statue was hidden in the greenery, under a willow tree, where also her remains rested peacefully, surrounded by what she had loved so much. He sat down on a stone bench in full sunlight and closed his eyes momentarily, the image of his mother’s smile and her brightly sparkling eyes in forefront of his mind.

“Well, because the other half of the old lion’s soul had died long before her time. So the old lion, who had been a very powerful but sad man, went through life alone and no one knew his pain. Until the day his mark came back to life.”

“Mark just like mine?” The girl climbed from his shoulders into his lap, her blue eyes smiling up at him in a familiar way.

“Just quite,” he agreed and reached to tickle her left palm. She giggled and glanced down at her hand, a serious expression flitting over her face, her old soul shining through for a moment.

Clearing his throat, he continued, “The soulmark sparkled back to life and the lion knew that the days of loneliness were over. He waited patiently and then one day, he met a little young she-wolf who bore the matching mark.”

“They married,” supplied the child happily and cuddled closer to him. Her eyes strayed toward the willow, searching the shade for the familiar shape of the statue.

“That they did.” Lord Lannister followed her gaze, his own green eyes melancholy. He remembered how he had sat on the exact same bench as a boy with his mother while she had been telling the exact same story. The tree had been so much smaller then, and his world had consisted only of the Rock and the surrounding area.

He had had a happy childhood. His father had often taken him for rides along the shoreline, where their lands stretched before them as far as the eye could see. He had taught him how to swing a sword and how to fish and how to rule. His mother had shown him how to find humor in every situation, how to read others and how to enjoy even the smallest of things. With much love and even more laughter, they had shown him how to be a good husband and father, and how to use his strengths to the benefits of their family and realm.

“Were they happy, Grandfather?”

“I believe so, my darling.” He turned to look at the child, the youngest of his grandchildren, with fondness.

“They loved each other,” she stated.

“Undoubtedly. Their love is so strong that even death can’t keep their souls apart for long.”

The girl smiled and there was something knowing in her eyes. She put her small palm – the left one – on Lord Lannister’s cheek again. “They loved their cubs, too.”

His eyes misted for a moment and he swallowed. “Of course.”

He knew he had been loved by his parents unconditionally. His brothers had often teased him about being mama’s boy and his sister had always smirked and remarked something about purring lions not knowing what claws were meant for. He knew that his elder siblings had been loved, too – each in their own, complicated way.

Lord Lannister sighed and fell silent. His granddaughter snuggled close to him, her thin arms wrapping around his waist, and was content to just sit with him as if she too felt that this was one of the very last moments they get to spend together in this lifetime.

“You forgot to continue, Grandfather.” The child’s voice brought Lord Lannister back from his thoughts and he smiled down at her.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. The old lion and the she-wolf loved their cubs,” she prompted softly and closed her eyes, snuggling back into his warmth.

“The cubs were loved and grew up fine and strong. The eldest son of the old lion traveled to the East where he fell in love with a maiden who wore suns and moons on her shield and settled to live with her on a beautiful sapphire island.” Lord Lannister smiled nostalgically. His great-nephew currently ruled Tarth and was doing a good job of it.

“The daughter, a lioness beautiful and fierce, married a powerful stag who had been crowned a king of all the land and started a family of her own so she would never be alone like her father had been for so long.” He smirked. Cersei and Robert had finally stopped producing children when their fifth son – the eighth child in total – had been born. He grew up with his nephews, nieces, and cousins, spending a great deal of his childhood in the capital – oh, the troubles the Baratheon brood had often gotten into!

“The middle brother wisely settled close to his sister and kept the lands prosperous as the Hand of the Stag King for some time. Then he traveled the world, drank wine, sang songs and wrote lots and lots of books.” Tyrion had proved to be infertile and hadn’t inherited the Rock – not that he had wanted it after his stint as the Hand when he had had a real taste of ruling.

“What about the youngest cub?” mumbled the child sleepily.

“The youngest one?” Lord Lannister mused loudly. “Ah, he grew into a man who was very much like his father and when the time came, the young lion succeeded the old one. He too started his own family and loved his cubs who all grew to be as strong as their ancestors.”

“What happened to the old lion and the she-wolf, Grandfather?”

Lord Lannister smiled despite the sharp tug at his heart. “You see, the old lion had been already old when he met his she-wolf. He left the world as all living beings are bound to do when their time comes. His soulmate lingered after that, making sure that their lands were safe and their cubs happy, and then she followed the old lion into their next life.”

He had been squiring for his uncle – Lord Stark – when the news of his father’s death had reached him. By the time he had arrived back to the Rock, Lord Tywin had been already buried. Jaime had relinquished his rights to the Rock in order to follow his wife to Tarth and govern the island by her side. Tyrion had been King’s Robert Hand for two years in their father’s stead and disliked the responsibility of it. That had left the burden of ruling the West on his mother’s shoulders.

That had been the last time Gerion Lannister had cried, the moment his childhood had ended. He had clutched at his mother, letting her whisper soothing words of comfort even though her own heart had been ripped out of her chest, and had simply cried, great sobs choking him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to say goodbye. The very idea of his father dying had been something the young boy had refused to contemplate and had been wholly unprepared to face.

Three years after that, when he had returned freshly knighted for his role in yet another Greyjoy rebellion, the new Lord Lannister had found his mother in her garden on their bench. She had turned to look at him, her blue eyes devoid of the beloved light, and smiled sorrowfully. At that moment, Gerion had known that the time had come. Soulmates suffered without their other half and he had understood that his mother had been holding onto life for _him_, to see him become man and he hadn’t wished her to suffer alone anymore.

She had embraced her son – a man grown who embodied everything their great house stood for – and he had returned the embrace gently with a heavy heart. They had sat on their bench until the sun had set and long into the night, trading stories and news and jokes and memories. When his mother had bid him goodnight and retired, Gerion had closed his eyes and prayed, knowing that had been the last time he had seen her alive.

Lady Sansa Lannister had outlived her husband by three years only – long enough to see their son grow up into a fine young man and his other children comfortable in their lives – and then she had followed the other half of her soul. She had died peacefully, smiling softly in her sleep at the age of seven and thirty. She had been mourned by the whole realm for she had been beloved wherever she had gone. The Starks and the Baratheons had all abandoned their strongholds and come to the Rock to pay their respects to the one who had united the family in ways no one could have predicted.

“Ty never liked the end,” whispered his granddaughter and blinked her eyes open with difficulty. She looked at him for a moment and then she closed them again. “Said the old lion and the she-wolf were cheated… and that the story wasn’t finished.”

Lord Lannister laughed loudly and shook his head – that sounded exactly like something his eldest grandson who would inherit the Rock one day would say. “Of course, darling girl, your cousin was right – the story of those two is far from over.”

“So… what… happens… next?”

“What happens next? Who knows, my dear? You and Ty will decide.” He watched as sleep claimed the child and held her close, enjoying the peace and quiet of his mother’s garden for one last time. The leaves were coloring, and the sun had already lost some of its strength. Winter was coming and all the warmth and brightness would be soon gone from the world, at least for some time. He wouldn’t see the next spring and he wouldn’t see the next chapter but Lord Lannister didn’t doubt that the marks on his grandchildren’s palms would bring them love and happiness as they had countless times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t feel right to just vanish for two weeks and not finish ‘Colors’ when I had most of it already planned and half-way done, so here we are. I can sleep on the way there, can’t I? *grins*  
I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it and I wanted to thank you again for your wonderful comments, the kudos, and the encouragement. If you haven’t seen my other GoT works, please feel free to check them out. I can already promise a new three-part story (and this time I really mean three-part, seriously) featuring Tywin/Sansa in an Italian setting (because how could I not?) and I’ll try to update as soon as I can.  
Love you all, Mad Mage :)

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I wanted to write one… Soulmate story, I mean. Actually, I’m considering doing a series of soulmate fics with Tommen/Sansa coming next (poor kid, he deserves better). Seeing that I’m new to this fandom and just blunder my way through, are there any other pairs you would like to read about? Let me know :)


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